PREKARIAT- KULTURA / POSNETEK OKROGLE MIZE

OKROGLA MIZA O PREKANOSTI V KULTURI, baru Pritličje, 14.12. 2015
SODELUJOČI:  moderatorke Katja Miklavčič,
novinarka in publicistka Jedert Jež Furlan, ilustratorka in slikarka Alenka Sottler

POROČILO O PROSTOVOLJNEM DELU Z BEGUNCI ALI ZAKAJ BOM ŠLA 1O. DECEMBRA NA DEMONSTRACIJE

BARBARA KORUN

„Če hočeš pomagati, moraš pogledati vstran“ - ?!

 

         V begunskih centrih sem delala desetkrat v mesecu od 25. oktobra do 21. novembra (vmes sem bila 12 dni na potovanju, kar pomeni, da sem bila prostovoljka vsaj vsak drugi dan). Bila sem v bivši tovarni Beti, v skladišču v Brežicah, kasneje na Dobovem 2, na Šentilju in največkrat v vojašnici Stara Vrhnika.

 

Prvič „na terenu“

 

            Kot prostovoljka sem se za delo z begunci k Slovenski filantropiji prijavila že septembra, zato sem komaj čakala, da so me končno le poklicali „na teren“. Peljala sem še 4 druge prostovoljce iz Ljubljane. Proti Dobovi smo vozili zjutraj, malo pred sedmo. Ravno se je počasi danilo, polja so bila pokrita z meglo, bilo je mraz in vlažno. V daljavi smo nenadoma zagledali odsev močnih reflektorjev, kot jih imajo za nogometne tekme. Ko smo se približali bivši tovarni Beti v Dobovi, pa skoraj nismo mogli verjeti:  helikopterji, sirene, vojaki, marice, gasilski avtomobili, prizorišče pa osvetljeno z žarometi, da bi lahko videl šivanko na tleh (ko bi ne bila blatna) … predvsem pa se spominjam, kako mi je v oči bíla številnost pripadnikov specialnih enot, oblečenih v popolno bojno opravo, do zob oboroženih policistov, vojakov z mitraljezi v rokah – vsi ti so bili v neverjetnem nesorazmerju z utrujenimi, mokrimi, prezeblimi in pomanjkljivo oblečenimi ljudmi (nekateri so bili vsaj ogrnjeni s sivimi dekami UNHCR), bilo je precej družin z majhnimi otroki, pa tudi starci in starke, bili so tudi bolni in poškodovani. „Se je zgodilo kaj posebnega?“  „Ne, dobrodošla v realnost begunskega taborišča!“ mi je zaklicala prostovoljka, ki je odhajala z izmene. Nisem si mogla pomagati – prizor me je tako zelo spomnil na filme o nemških koncentracijskih taboriščih, da me stisnilo pri srcu. Ljudje v stiski za ograjo, zunaj pa patruljira vojska in policija … da bi jih stražili, da ne bi kdo ušel … ali da jim ne bi kdo nenadzorovano pomagal. Zdelo se mi je, da jih obravnavamo kot sovražnike, kot da bi šlo za zajetje sovražne vojske, potencialno zelo nevarne. Če smo se prostovoljci zapletli v pogovor s katerim od njih, so nas spodili stran.

            Sicer pa časa za pogovor niti ni bilo: takoj smo začeli delati v skladišču hrane in oblek. Skladišče je bilo polno, vendar temno, brez luči, skoraj ničesar nismo videli. Potrebno je bilo ločiti moške obleke od ženskih in otroških, naredili smo tri velike kupe in potem še četrtega za čevlje, ampak še zmeraj je bilo vse v obupnem neredu, predvsem pa nič prostora, da bi kaj sortirali. V istem prostoru so bile tri družine, nato je prišla še četrta, vse z dojenčki in majhnimi otroki. Eno dekletce, staro mogoče kake tri leta, je ves čas obupno kašljalo – pljučnica, sem pomislila. A zdravnika ni bilo in vrata za v prvo pomoč se, mislim, niso odprla do popoldneva. Medicinsko sestro pa sem srečala na malici, bila je dežurna že več kot 16 ur, nihče je ni prišel zamenjat. Zunaj so sicer čakali madžarski zdravniki z ambulatnim vozilom, a njih takrat niso pustili zraven.

            V taborišču za begunce, torej v treh ogromnih zapuščenih tovarniških halah, ni bilo nobene tekoče vode, kaj šele tople. Ležali so na betonskih tleh, kak karton je bil velika redkost in dragocenost. Ležali so na dekah, ki jih je res bilo dovolj, zrak v treh halah, kjer je bilo natlačenih več kot 1000, morda 1500 ljudi, pa je bil tako slab, da mi je postalo slabo. Kemičnih stranišč je bilo kakih 20, mogoče 30, a rok se ni dalo umiti, kruh pa se je delil kar tako, nezapakiran. Mi smo se ves čas špricali z razkužilom in menjavali rokavice in maske. Že takoj pa, ko smo stopili iz avta, smo zaznali poseben vonj: po gorečih organskih vlaknih (kasneje sem izvedela, da so se premraženi ljudje, ki so ostali zunaj, skušali ogreti z ognjem iz volnenih dek) in po človeških izločkih, iztrebkih in urinu, pomešanih z vonjem gnijočih ostankov hrane, mleka in rib iz konzerv.

            Kot prostovoljka sem takrat in kasneje čistila sem bruhanje, pobirala načete konzerve rib, brisala polito mleko in bezala jabolčne ogrizke in raztresene sardine izpod vseh mogočih špranj in jarkov … in to brez kakršnegakoli orodja – za tri tovarniške hale smo imeli dve metli, niti smetišnice ni bilo, kaj šele kakega čistila ali vedra z vodo, celo plasičnih vreč za smeti je zmanjkalo … vse smo delali z rokami (sicer v rokavicah), mleko, ki je bilo vsepovprek razlito (ta nesrečen, nepraktičen pollitrski tetrapak Ljubljanskih mlekarn!), smo brisali kot smo vedeli in znali, pomagali smo si s starimi oblačili. Ko sem vodjo izmene vprašala, zakaj je tako, mi je odgovoril: „Za njih je že dobro. Sicer pa tako ni časa čistiti, že prihajajo novi. Vsake tri dni pa speremo z vodo pod pritiskom in deratiziramo.“

            „Za njih je že dobro ...“ Ta stavek sem večkrat slišala, v različnih variantah. Ko smo tega dne zaradi prerivanja po ukazu komandirja policije nehali deliti hrano (ljudje pa so mi, takoj ko so me v brezrokavniku oranžne barve zagledali, čez ograjo z rokami kazali, da so lačni, lačni, lačni), sem ob primernem trenutku komandirja mimogrede vprašala, ali se ne bi dalo deljenje hrane organizirati kako drugače, me je prestrelil z očmi in rekel: „A sem jaz ilegalno prestopil mejo?!“ Zaprlo mi je sapo. Pomislila sem: če bi bili namesto teh ljudi tam Slovenci ali, recimo, Nemci – kako drugače bi jih obravnavali! Ne le, da bi se našle metle in vedra, našle bi se postelje in ogrevani šotori, topli obroki in dostojen kraj in predvsem dostojen način za ravnanje z njimi.

            Od policije in vojske, celo od Civilne zaščite ni bilo čutiti kake načelne, sistemske volje urediti stvari bolje. Seveda – saj tudi politične volje ni bilo nobene, volje z vrha, in tudi populisti bi se jih najraje kar znebili. Na drugi strani so se nekateri posamezniki v javnih službah (policisti, člani civilne zaščite ali rdečega križa), predvsem pa prostovoljci skoraj pretrgali želeč pomagati (dežurali so non-stop, prihajali pomagat ob delu itd.), a prenekateri v javnih službah so vendarle nemoteno glasno razširjali svoje rasistične predsodke … Vojska v Beti ni imela kakega posebnega dela, videla sem jih, kako so na dvorišču, zadaj za halo, kjer je bil prostor le za njih, igrali nogomet s pollitrskimi plastenkami vode, jedli golaž in se zgražali nad 'umazanostjo' beguncev (seveda so bile tudi svetle izjeme!). Pa so oni in policisti imeli edini tekočo vodo v stavbi bivše uprave, nam prostovoljcem pa je bilo rečeno, da naj gremo po toplo vodo za v stekleničko za mleko na naše stranišče.

            Naj takoj povem, da je bila moja izkušnja v vojašnici na Stari Vrhniki, kamor sem šla naslednji dan, precej drugačna. Tam so policisti ostali spodaj, okoli upravne zgradbe, vojakov skoraj ni bilo oz. so samo prinesli čaj in toplo hrano, zgoraj, v stavbah, pa smo bili poleg beguncev samo: dva predstavnika Civilne zaščite (komandirja in njegovega pomočnika sem videla, kako pobirata smeti okrog stavbe in jih tlačita v zabojnike, mlajši je celo skakal po vrečah, da jih je več pravil noter), Rdeči križ (tokrat sem šla kot njihova prostovoljka) in še različni drugi prostovoljci iz okoliških krajev ali ljubljanskih srednjih šol. Čeprav tudi tukaj ni bilo tekoče vode (to so kasneje pripeljali gasilci v cisternah in nekaj pip zmontirali zunaj, na dvorišču), je bilo vsaj več kemičnih stranišč na dvorišču, sobe s po 20 posteljami z rjuhami za enkratno uporabo, desno krilo v pritličju pa je bilo namenjeno prvi pomoči, zdravniku, delitvi čevljev in oblačil, kozmetike (milo, šamponi) in plenic, otroške hrane in podobno … urejen je bil celo otroški kotiček z igračami, papirjem in barvicami. Predvsem pa – čisto drug odnos do beguncev, človeški, prijazen, brez sledu rasizma in ksenofobije, res samo pomoč ljudem v stiski. (Kar se je žal po dogodkih v Parizu in tudi s prihodom zaposlenih preko javnih del v veliki meri preobrnilo.)

 

„Vaši policisti nas vsaj ne tepejo ...“

 

            Zdaj, ko razmišljam za nazaj, se ne morem znebiti vtisa, da policija v resnici ni bila tam samo zato, da bi z zagotavljanjem reda pomagala oskrbeti pomoči potrebne ljudi (v najboljšem primeru dajanje pomoči niso ovirali), vtis imam, da bi brez nevladnih humanitarnih organizacij bila kvaliteta in kvantiteta pomoči drastično nižja. (To je po moje nedopustno – namreč, da povečini neplačana, privatna iniciativa rešuje družbeno krizo.) Naj naštejem nekaj primerov: ljudi je policija na začetku (mokre, lačne, žejne, prezeble) silila, da so ure in ure zunaj na mrazu čakali na registracijo (za katero vemo, da so jo že doživeli na Hrvaškem, v Srbiji in da jih bodo še enkrat registrirali v Avstriji), šele potem so smeli dobiti pomoč. Pri deljenju pomoči je prihajalo do velikih ovir – le enega po enega ali le po peščico so spuščali v šotor, kjer smo delili obleko; in ker je bila obleka vsaj na začetku nesortirana in skladišče neosvetljeno, je bil skoraj čudež, če smo po dolgih minutah iskanja sploh našli kaj uporabnega. Deke se je 1500 ali 2000 ljudem delilo samo na enem koncu ograje – se je čuditi, da so premraženi ljudje pritisnili obnjo? Ko sem jih tistega prvega dne delila, sem občutila neverjetno silo, stisko, obup, s katerim so zagrabili deko in mi jo čez ograjo skušali izpuliti iz rok … Tu so krajšo potegnili šibkejši in bolj obzirni … Tudi hrano s(m)o delili le na enem koncu – in ko so lačni ljudje (1500!) pritisnili ob ograjo, smo hrano  (2 kosa kruha, konzerva sardin ali kokošja pašteta, jabolko, pol litra mleka in pol litra vode) morali nehali deliti … čeprav so bila skladišča polna … Tisti, ki so potrebnejše spuščali naprej ali pa sami niso premogli dovolj moči za prerivanje, so ostali brez.

            Ko sem prvič prišla domov 's terena', sem bila ogorčena. Nekaj je treba narediti, sem si mislila, ni prav, da se s temi ljudmi tako slabo ravna samo zato, ker nimajo nobene družbene moči, da bi se zaščitili. Ko me je koordinatorica s Slovenske filantorpije poklicala, sem ji brez zadržkov opisala, kaj sem videla, in povedala mi je, da imajo drugi prostovoljci podobne izkušnje. Čez nekaj dni sem z zadovoljstvom prebrala javno pismo 12 nevladnih humanitarnih organizacij, v katerem so zagrozili s tožbo slovenski vladi zaradi nehumanega ravnanja z begunci. Sledil je nedeljski sestanek Merklove z vladami 'balkanske begunske poti“ in razmere so se nekoliko zboljšale: zaprli so tovarno Beti, begunce pa začeli z vlaki in avtobusi privažati direktno v center Dobova 2, kjer so pogoji in sistem obravnave nekoliko boljši, potem pa čimprej v Šentilj.

            Vseeno sem bila prepričana, da naši policisti in vojaki, če že ne pomagajo, vsaj ne škodijo. Nihče od beguncev se nikoli ni nad ničimer pritožil. Tudi afganistansko dekle, ki je znala odlično angleško in sem jo zato tega drugega dne na Stari Vrhniki prosila, da pomaga pri razdeljevanju oblek, mi je na moje vprašanje, kako je tu, v Sloveniji, odgovorila: „Vaša policija nas vsaj ne tepe …“

            Vendar je bilo včasih težko prepričati policista specialne enote, da ta človek, ki ga držim pod roko, nujno potrebuje zdravnika, in če bi naju, prosim, spustil skozi ograjo do zdravnika. Nezaupljiv pogled (obraz je zakrit s črno kapuco, vidijo se samo oči, živčne, nemirne, ki me prebadajo in skušajo oceniti, ali sem potencialno nevarna ali ne (jaz, sivolasa, 53 let stara štirikratna babica?!)… Nekoč sem z nekim beguncem, ki se je tresel od mrzlice, kakih 20 minut tavala od enega konca ograjenega šotora do drugega, pa me nihče od policistov ni spustil mimo, šele ko sem tretjič milo prosila in obljubila, da ga osebno pripeljem nazaj, so mi odprli prehod. Prostovoljci smo morali begunce namreč tudi spremljati znotraj taborišč, npr. k zdravniku. Posebej zoprno je bilo v Šentilju, stanje pa se je poslabšalo po dogodkih v Parizu.

            Neka prostovoljka mi je povedala, da je z zelo bolno žensko skušala po bližnjici priti do zdravnika. Policist jima je to prepovedal, morali sta se podati naokrog, trajalo je zelo dolgo, ker je ženska le stežka hodila; ko pa sta le prišli do zdravnika, se ji je iz spodnjega dela trebuha vsul gnoj: bila je porodnica s carskim rezom in morali so jo z rešilcem prepeljati v Maribor. Sama sem v Stari Vrhniki videla družino z manj kot en dan starim novorojenčkom; porodnico so takoj po porodu poslali nazaj v taborišče; ker pa ni bilo prevajalca, da bi jo lahko kaj povprašala, ne vem, ali je šla prostovoljno ali zato, ker kot begunska ni upravičena do nenujne zdravniške nege …

            Humanitarne organizacije in prostovoljci v njih smo se večkrat znašli v zelo neprijetnem položaju – če smo hoteli vsaj malo pomagati in olajšati položaj beguncev, smo morali sprejeti 'vojaški red' in 'vojaška pravila': naredi, kar se ti reče, takoj in brez vprašanj, dosledno upoštevaj navodila, bodi pasiven. In nenapisano pravilo, za katerega nisem vedela: če vidiš kakšno nepotrebno nasilje ali za begunce škodljivo samovoljo 'nadrejenega' – poglej stran in molči. Samo s temi pogoji boš lahko še naprej pomagal.

            Tako mi je v Šentilju eden od prostovoljcev iz Maribora, ki je večkrat prišel pomagat, povedal sledeče. „Danes je mirno, zelo mirno,“ je začel. „Pred tremi dnevi, takoj po Parizu, ko je Avstrija nekoliko priprla svoja vrata in so nekateri begunci ostali v Šentilju tudi tri dni, pa je počilo. Kakih dvanajst smo morali peljati k zdavniku, ker so ji policisti s pendreki po glavi. Pa to ni bilo prvič.“  „Si to posnel, dal na internet, prijavil?“ sem ga vprašala. „Nisem nor. Potem bi nam prepovedali delati tukaj,“ je odgovoril. „Če hočeš pomagati, moraš včasih pogledati proč.“ Pri teh besedah me je mrzlo streslo, nisem imela kaj reči. „Ampak veš,“ je nadaljeval zamišljeno, „to so prav tisti policaji, ki so pretepali tudi nas, takrat ob vstaji v Mariboru …“

 

Bojte se beguncev - ?!

 

            Ves čas so nas opozarjali na nevarnost prenosa bolezni, begunce so tudi v medijih stigmatizirali kot biološke bombe, prenašalce tuberkoloze in kolere, garij, uši in še nevemčesa; veterinarski zavod je celo svetoval krajanom ob begunski poti, da naj nanjo ne spuščajo svojih ljubljenčkov, da se ne bi česa nalezli. Tovrstna propaganda je imela vidne učinke: nekateri ljudje, ki so v taboriščih delali preko javnih del, se niso hoteli niti srečati z begunci, pospravljali so le pod pogojem, da nikogar več ni bilo v šotoru. Slišala sem starejšo žensko reči: „Živo me ne spravijo v šotor, kjer so ti hudiči.“ S 'hudiči' je mislila na begunce.

            Moje izkušnje z njimi so bile zelo dobre in so najpoglavitnejša motivacija za moje prostovoljsko delo. Tako ubogljivih, potrpežljivih, vljudnih, zaupljivih ljudi v Sloveniji ne srečaš veliko. Nekateri (večina, bi rekla) so bili otroško zaupljivi, predvsem pa hvaležni, resnično srečni, da se bližajo svojemu cilju – pravičnejšim deželam, miru, boljšemu življenju. Drugi, bolj izobraženi in bolje poučeni, so bili bolj zadržani, a zelo olikani, dostojanstveni, vljudni, nekateri z odličnim znanjem angleščine, očitno iz bogatega, evropsko orientiranega okolja. Takoj sem našla stik z otroki – ki niso skrivali veselja, ko so po nekajurnem stanju v vrsti ali sedenju v vlaku ali avtobusu lahko prosto tekali naokoli. Nisem pa srečala neprijaznih, glasnih ali zahtevnih beguncev.

            (Enkrat sem tako preštela, za hec, kaj je ostalo za okrog 500 ljudmi: vreča kruha, 5 ali 6 jabolk, 10 tetrapakov mleka, 8 konzerv kokošje paštete, 2 viki kremi in 1 med ter 4 majhne vrečke suhega grozdja, še iz Hrvaške in 1 frutek (neka mama je očitno v hitrici pozabila torbo s plenicami, kruhom, mlekom in temi dragocenimi rozinami). Ko je prišla naslednja skupina: preden je v šotor stopilo naslednjih deset registriranih, je prvih deset že vrglo celotno embalažo hrane v smeti – čisto prazno. Na dušek so vse pojedli in popili.)

            Že ko sem jih prvič v živo zagledala, sem začutila, da so ti begunci moji zavezniki in da se moram tudi javno, družbeno angažirati (ob sočasnem prostovoljskem delu) za njihove pravice – ker so te pravice hkrati tudi moje.

 

Namesto zaključka povabilo na demonstracijo 10. decembra

       

            Še nekdo ob vsem tem gleda stran, pa po svoji volji: naša vlada. Sekretar za notranje zadeve se je pohvalil, da „smo preko Slovenije prepeljali 200.000 beguncev, ne da bi Slovenci (razen tisti ob meji) kaj opazili“. Kot da je bila njihova glavna vloga prav to – da mi ne bi ničesar opazili! Predvsem pa ne, kdo zares so ti ljudje, ki 'gredo mimo', zakaj, pred čem bežijo in kam so namenjeni ...

            A kdor le hoče, lahko ves čas opaža popolno odsotnost politične volje pomagati. Nekaj licemerskih stavkov našega predsednika vlade javnosti ne morejo zakriti njegove ignorance in popolno odsotnost zanimanja za to vprašanje; rezilna žica, ki jo je vlada ukazala napeljati na meji s Hrvaško, je brez dvoma namenjena nam: po eni strani krajanom, da bi imeli lažen občutek varnosti, po drugi pa vsem drugim, da bi se navadili živeti znotraj bodečih žic in pristali na zmanjšanje svojih svoboščin in pravic. Prav gotovo ni namenjena beguncem, saj je z vlaka sploh ne morejo opaziti, teroristom pa še manj – tisti, pred katerimi ti milijoni ljudi v prvi vrsti bežijo in ki se jih tudi mi bojimo, ti bodo v vsakem primeru prišli skoz, največkrat kar z letali, v prvem razredu in z evropskimi potnimi listi …

            S tem, ko je naša vlada begunce označila za varnostno in ne humanitarno vprašanje – skupaj z uradno medijsko antipropagando, načrtnim vzbujanjem iracionalnega strahu in s podpihovanjem predsodkov in sovražnega govora, ki so si našli imenitno g(n)ojišče tudi v marsikaterih omrežnih komentarjih –, je pokazala, da nima občutka za ljudi, da jim (nam) je obrnila hrbet in da zato tudi ni vredna mojega zaupanja. Zato bom šla v četrtek, 10. decembra, na demonstracije.

 ANG

 Barbara Korun

 

THE REPORT ABOUT VOLUNTARY WORK IN REFUGEE CAMPS IN SLOVENIA OR WHY WILL I GO TO DEMONSTRATION ON TENTH OF DECEMBER

 

Doing ‘Fieldwork’ for the First Time

 

Already in September, I applied to the Slovene Philantrophy, Association for promotion of voluntary work, to help in the refugee camps and was then anxiously waiting to receive their call.

On the first day of my volunteer work, we drove from Ljubljana to Dobova. There were five of us, me and four other volunteers. It was early in the morning, the clock hadn’t struck seven yet. The dawn was rising, fields were covered in fog, and it was cold and damp. Suddenly, we noticed the reflection of strong lights in the distance. It was like in the middle of a football game but when we came closer to the former Beti factory we couldn’t believe our own eyes.

There were helicopters, sound alarms, soldiers, police officers, fire engines, and the place was so powerfully floodlit that you could see a sewing needle on the floor if it wasn’t so muddy… but above all I can’t forget, how much I was struck by the number of special police units wearing the full battle uniforms, police officers armed to the teeth, and soldiers with machine guns. All this was in utter disproportion with the tired, wet, cold, and poorly dressed people, among whom at least some were wrapped up with grey UNICEF blankets. There were also a lot of families with small children, old people, the sick and the injured.

‘What happened here? Is something wrong?’ I asked.

‘Oh no! Welcome to the reality of a refugee camp!’ cried one of the volunteer workers while she was leaving her shift.

I could not help myself but to think of the films about German concentration camps – my heart shrank. People who were in great need were standing behind the fence, outside there were police and military forces making sure nobody would escape…or that nobody who was not under their control would help these people. It seemed to me that we thought of these people as of our enemies. As if we managed to capture the enemy’s army which was potentially very dangerous. If anyone from the volunteers started talking to the refugees he was forced to move away from the fence.

On the other hand, there wasn’t really much time for talking. We almost immediately started working in the food and clothes’ warehouse. It was full of things but very dark, with no lights, so we could barely see anything. We had to make three piles of clothes for men, women and children, and the fourth pile for shoes. But little did that help! Everything was still a big mess, because there was no space for proper sorting. There were three families in the same room with babies and small children, and soon the fourth family joined us. One of the little girls, about three years old, was coughing terribly – pneumonia, I said to myself. Nevertheless, there was no doctor anywhere to be seen and first aid wasn’t available until noon, if I wasn’t mistaken. The only nurse I did see working there I met during the break. She was on duty for more than 16 hours and nobody came to take her place. There were Hungarian doctors with ambulance car waiting outside, but they were not allowed to come in, as I was told.

In the refugee camp, which consisted of three large factory halls, there was no running water, let alone hot water. People were lying on the concrete floor; pieces of cardboard were a luxury, though there were enough blankets available. The air in the three halls, where you could find more than 1000, maybe even 1500 people, was so foul-smelling that I got sick the minute I stepped in. There were about 20 or 30 chemical toilets, but you couldn’t wash your hand anywhere. The bred was distributed unwrapped.

The volunteers used the disinfectant spray all the time and kept changing the rubber gloves and protective masks. As soon as I stepped out of the car I sensed a distinctive smell: burning organic substances, human excrements mixed with the smell of rotten food, milk and fish cans. I was later told that people who were severely cold tried to warm themselves by setting the woollen blankets on fire.

As a volunteer, I cleaned vomiting, picked up half-empty fish cans, wiped the spilt milk, tried to get apple cores and pieces of sardine from various small holes and crevices without any proper tools. All we had for cleaning three large factory halls were two broomsticks with no dustpan, cleanser or water; even the rubbish bags went out! We had to do everything solely by hands; luckily we at least had rubber hand gloves. The milk, which was spilt everywhere (oh this highly unpractical half-a-litre milk packaging of Ljubljana dairy!), had to be cleaned up by using old clothes for there was nothing else with which we could do it.

When I asked the person in charge of my shift, why we were facing such a difficult situation, he answered: ‘Oh, it will do for them. Anyway, we don’t have time to clean things up, because there are new people coming every minute. We do, however, wash the floor with running water every three days and use rat deterrents.

‘It will do for them…’ I heard this sentence many times in various forms. When we were ordered that day by the commander of the police to stop distributing food due to crowd disturbances, I found the right moment and asked the commander if there wasn’t some other way to distribute food (because people behind the fence, as soon as they noticed I was wearing the orange jacket, started showing me with their hands that they were hungry, hungry, hungry…). This is the reply he gave me: ‘Am I the one who crossed the border illegally?!’

It took my breath away. I said to myself: if people behind the fence were Slovenians or, let’s say, Germans, how differently we would treat them! We would find broomsticks, buckets of water, beds, warm tents, cooked meals, a proper place to house them and above all a decent way to treat them.

I can’t say I noticed any goodwill coming from the police, military and even the Civil Protection to arrange things better and more systematically. Come to think of it, it’s not strange at all since there was no political will either. Even the populists wanted to get rid of the refugees. But I can say that there were some rare exceptions where certain public service workers (policemen, members of the Civil Protection or Red Cross) and volunteers would give anything to help the refugees (they were on duty 24/7, came to help after their job was done, etc.). Then again, there were others, who spread their racist remarks among co-workers…

The army was mostly without work in the former Beti factory. I saw them playing football with small bottles of water in the backyard behind the factory halls. They ate goulash and were disgusted with refugees’ filthiness – don’t get me wrong, there were of course some great exceptions! Nevertheless, I cannot go by without mentioning that the army and the police forces were the only people who had clean running water in the former manager house, while volunteers had to fetch hot water from the toilets to fill up the feeding bottles with milk.

When I was sent to Stara Vrhnika barracks the next day, the situation there was completely different. The police officers were stationed downstairs around the manager building and there were scarcely any soldiers. If they did come they brought tea and warm meals. Upstairs, there were refugees, two representatives of the Civil Protection (I even saw the commander and his assistant picking up the garbage around the building and putting it into the dustbins; the assistant also took the trouble of pressing the bags together with his feet to make room for some more), Red Cross (I volunteered as one of them this time) and various other volunteer workers from the neighbouring places and Ljubljana high schools. Although there was no running water at that time (it was brought by the fire-fighters in large cisterns with tabs later), there were at least more chemical toilets, and rooms with 20 beds covered with sheets for single use. The right wing in the ground floor was reserved for the first aid, the doctor, for distributing shoes, clothes, cosmetics (soap and shampoos), diapers, food for babies etc. There was even a playing corner for children with paper and colour pencils. But above all – an entirely different attitude towards refugees. People were kind, human-like, without any trace of racism and xenophobia. All they wanted was to help the refugees in need.

I must confess, though, that everything changed dramatically after the arrival of the people employed in the public services and after the sad events in Paris. 

‘Your Police Officers at Least Don’t Hit Us…’

When I now look back, I cannot avoid the impression that the police didn’t always do what one would expect from them (well, at least they didn’t prevent us helping the refugees in most cases). The police were there to protect the order and to enable an organized help for those who were in great need. However, it seems to me that the quantity and quality of help would have been extremely low if it weren’t for the non-governmental humanitarian organisations. This is, in my opinion, not to be born! How can we let that people who were not paid for this keep resolving the social crisis? Let me just show you a few examples: the police forced the wet, hungry, thirsty and cold refugees to wait outside for hours and hours to be registered and only afterwards allowed us to help them (although we know that they had been registered before in Serbia and Croatia and that they would be registered again in Austria). There were many difficulties we had to face while offering help to the refugees – only a few refugees were allowed into the tent at the same time where we were distributing clothes; since the clothes were not sorted properly and the light was very poor, it was almost impossible to find anything appropriate.

The blankets, there were between 1500 and 2000 of them, were distributed only at one end of the fence. Is it strange then that people who were freezing cold pressed themselves against the fence? While I was distributing blankest the first day, I felt the immense force, need, and despair with which they tried to pull the blanket out of my hands… of course the weak and more reserved refugees were left empty-handed. Even the food had to be distributed at only one end of the fence. Imagine 1500 hungry people each trying desperately to reach for 2 slices of bread, a can of sardines or poultry pate, an apple, half a litre of milk and water… well we were ordered to stop giving food once the refugees again pressed themselves against the fence… despite the fact that the warehouses were full of food. Those people, who let the weak go forward, were left hungry.

When I returned from the ‘field work’ for the first time, I was infuriated. Something had to be done I thought to myself. It is not right that these people are treated thus only because they have no power in the society which would enable them to protect themselves. When I received a phone call from the coordinator of the Slovene Philantropy, I told her with no restraints what I had seen and she told me that other volunteers had similar experiences. A couple of days later, I was pleased to read a public letter from 12 non-governmental humanitarian organisations which threatened to press a charge against the Slovene government due to inhumane dealings with the refugees. What followed was the Sunday meeting of Angela Merkel with the governments of the ‘Balkan refugee path’ and the situation somewhat improved. They closed the Beti factory and started sending refugees by trains and buses directly to the Dobova 2 refugee centre, where the conditions and the reception are much better. Afterwards, the refugees were sent to Šentilj.

Nevertheless, I am convinced that our police officers, though they may not be helping, they at least don’t do any harm. Nobody from the refugees ever had a complaint. Even an Afghan girl who spoke excellent English and whom I asked on the second day of my volunteer work at Stara Vrhnika to help distributing clothes, said ‘Your police officers at least don’t hit us’, when I asked her how she feels here in Slovenia.

But there were times, when it was fairly hard to convince special police units that the man I was holding under my arm urgently needed a doctor. I had to ask to be let through. The policeman would give me a distrustful look (his face was covered with a black hood so that the only thing I could see were his nervous, restless eyes piercing me through and trying to find out whether I was potentially dangerous or not (me, a grey-haired 53-year-old four-time grandmother?!)…

One day, I spent 20 minutes going from one side of the fenced tent to the other with a man who was shaking badly with fever. It wasn’t until I had passed the police officers for the third time, begged them and promised to bring the man back in person that they let us through. Volunteers had to accompany the refugees inside the camps when going to the doctor, for example. This was extremely vexing in Šentilj but everything got worse after the events in Paris.

One of the volunteers told me that she tried to use a short cut to find the doctor with a very sick woman but the police officer wouldn’t let them. They had to use the long way and by the time they had finally reached the doctor, it took them really long because the woman could barely walk, the pus oozed out of her belly. It turned out the woman was a patient who had caesarean section and had to be taken to the hospital in Maribor immediately. I had seen with my own eyes in Stara Vrhnika a family with one-day-old new-born. The mother was sent back to the refugee camp straight after the childbirth but since there was no translator available, I could not ask her whether she was sent back according to her wish or because she was not entitled to receive non-urgent medical care…

Humanitarian organisations and volunteer workers have found ourselves more than once in an exceedingly difficult situation. If we wanted to help the refugees and ease their situation we had to accept the ‘military order’ and ‘ military rules’, which means we were forced to immediately do as told, ask no questions, follow the rules and offer no resistance. There was also one unspoken rule: should you see any unnecessary violence towards the refugees or unacceptable self-willed behaviour on the part of the superiors, pay no attention to it and say nothing about it. These are the conditions you must accept if you want to keep helping the refugees.

It so happened that in Šentilj one of the volunteers from Maribor, who had helped on more than one occasion, told me the following.

‘It is very, very peaceful today’, he said. ‘But three days ago, right after the attacks in Paris, when Austria reduced the number of refugees it would accept and some of them had to stay in Šentilj for three days, people lost their temper. We had to take twelve of them to the doctor because the police officers hit them on the head with rubber truncheons. It wasn’t even the first time that something like this happened.’

‘Did you tape it? Put it on the internet and report it?’ I asked him.

‘I’m not crazy. If I did that we could no longer work here’, he replied. ‘If you want to help, you have to ignore it.’

I felt cold shudder run through my spine; I was speechless.

‘But you know,’ he slowly added, ‘those were the same policemen that hit us during the rebellion in Maribor…’

 

Be Afraid of the Refugees?!

We were continuously warned against the danger of disease transmission. The refugees were depicted as biological bombs by the media. They were seen as transmitters of tuberculosis, cholera, scab, lice and who knows what else. The National Veterinary Institute even advised the farmers along the refugee route not to let their pets run around freely. Otherwise, they could be exposed to infectious diseases. This type of propaganda had direct influence on people: some who worked in the refugee centres through public work refused to meet the refugees, they would only clean after them when everybody was gone. I overheard an older woman saying: ‘I will not go alive into the tent where these devils are.’ By ‘devils’ she meant the refugees.

My experience of working with refugees was extremely positive and this motivated me to continue working as a volunteer. The refugees were obedient, patient, polite, and trustful. You do not meet many such people in Slovenia! Most of them trusted us like children, but above all they were grateful and truly happy to be so near their goal – to reach countries full of justice, peace and to attain better life. Other more educated refugees were more reserved, but very civil, full of dignity, polite, with excellent knowledge of English and clearly coming from wealthy and Europe-oriented background. It was very easy to come into contact with children who were merrily running around after those long hours of queuing or sitting on a train. What I did not encounter were unfriendly, loud or demanding refugees.

At some point I got an idea to count everything what was left behind after 500 refugees were gone. There was a bag of bread, 5 or 6 apples, 10 units of milk tetra pak, 8 pultry pate cans, 2 small packages of nutella, 1 small package of honey and 4 small bags of dried grapes from Croatia and 1 frutek (baby’s food). It turned out that one of the mothers had forgotten a whole bag filled with dippers, bread, milk and raisins. When the next group of ten people arrived they ate and drank at a gulp all that had been left and finished eating even before the next ten people could enter the tent.

Even when I first saw them, I felt that these refugees were my allies and that I had to make a public stand for their rights while at the same time working for them as a volunteer – because their rights are also my rights.

Let Me Finish by Inviting You to Join Me at the Demonstrations on December 10    

There is somebody else, who wishes to look away from all this: our government. The Secretary at the Ministry for Internal Affairs boasted about transporting 200 000 refugees through Slovenia without Slovenians (except those at the border) ever noticing anything. As if their main task was exactly that – the Slovenians should not see the refugees! We should not see who those people are. We should not see them passing through and should not pay attention to the reasons for their running away from homey, not pay attention to where they are going… 

But those who care, can see the complete absences of political will to provide help. A few hypocritical remarks delivered to the public by the president of our government cannot hide his ignorant behaviour and lack of interest in the refugees’ question. The wired fence built on the border with Croatia is by all means intended for us: on the one hand, it should give us a false feeling of safety, on the other hand it should help us get used to the reduction of our freedoms and rights. But the wired fence is certainly not intended for the refugees, who cannot even notice it from the train and it is certainly not intended for the terrorists. Terrorists, the threat from which these millions of people run away in the first place and the threat we are all afraid of, they will come through our wired borders in any way, usually by planes, flying in the first class and having European passports…

Since our government treats the refugees as a threat and not as a humanitarian question it has shown by the help of antipropaganda in news, by deliberately causing irrational fear, by reinforcing prejudice, by encouraging hate speech, which found its way into online commentaries, by all this, as I said, it shows that it has no feeling for people, that it has turned its back on them and thus on us. Our government is not worthy of my trust.

 

This is why I am going to the demonstration on Thursday, December 10.

                                                                   Translated by Sibil V. Gruntar

 

Barbara Korun (born 1963) is a Slovene poet. She is one of the leading figures in the generation of radical young women poets in Slovenia and her poems have also been translated into English and published in the USA and Ireland.

 

 

TOWEL WAR IN EUROPE

ANG 

Alenka Sottler

In some areas along the Adriatic sea shore in Croatia municipal wardens have started removing empty beach towels weighted with rocks. The problem is that tourists have firmly adopted the habit of laying the towels on the beach in the late evening or early morning hours to secure their favorite spot. Some tourists even take the trouble of getting up really early and carrying towels to the beach to occupy ‘their’ territory. To make matters worse, the vacation apartment landlords themselves do not mind fulfilling their guests wishes by securing the beloved spot on the beach.

Let me rephrase the above example by saying that we are dealing here with the occupation of a small part of a territory for the benefit of a few people – why does that ring a bell to me? Isn’t that because the countries of Western Europe have similarly marked their part of the planet by building protective boarder fences, forcing their regulations and threatening with power?

I noticed a bug crossing my threshold earlier this day. Is there a law forbidding the bugs to trespass my territory?

If we look beyond the beach towels, stones, the law, customs and refugee centers we can see the laws which apply to universal human rights. The right of every living being to live freely in this Universe and on our planet Earth, to breathe the air, drink clean water, to go swimming and sunbathe, to eat and to move to a place where it feels it can survive.

Let me go back to the beach towels for a moment. I saw a sign in front of a beach in Vodice. It said:

 “It is forbidden to leave your personal belongings during the night and early morning on the beach for reservation purposes. Any items left unattended shall be removed by municipal wardens.”

The offenders were risking a fine of 100 KUN (13€). So far, municipal wardens have only removed the beach towels occupying the beach without giving fines. However, Vodice are not an isolated example. City authorities on the islands Murter (Tisno), Prvić and in Makarska have taken similar measures to prevent beach occupation. Foreign news agencies also reported about similar cases of beach invasion in Spain, where tourists received a fine of 30€.

I guess that Europe should as well put up a sign saying:

‘It is strictly forbidden to fence the countries, close the borders and to protect the country’s territory as a private property of a small number of people who want a comfortable living. Should a country decide to disregard the above law its territory will be taken and laws overturned. Country’s inappropriate behaviour shall result in a fine of XY EUR!


Translated by Sibil Gruntar Vilfan

SLO

Alenka Sottler


V nekaterih krajih ob hrvaški obali so občinski redarji začeli odstranjevati s kamni obtežene brisače, ki jih na plažah pozno zvečer ali v zgodnjih jutranjih urah namestijo turisti, da bi zasedli najboljša mesta ob morju. Nekateri vstanejo že zarana, in še preden popijejo prvo kavo, razpostavijo stvari po »svojem« teritoriju na plaži. Tudi lastniki apartmajev radi ustrežejo gostom s pravočasno namestitvijo brisač na plažah. Ta banalni primer okupacije določenega koščka plaže za koristi le enega ali nekaj posameznikov, mi je dal misliti. Mar nismo zahodnoevropske države označile svoj kos planeta in ga zasedle z zakoni, z grožnjo moči in fizičnimi mejami na podoben način, kot ga v teh dneh z brisačami in kamni okupirajo turisti po sredozemskih plažah?

Danes je na prag pred vhodna vrata prikorakal hrošček in prečkal mojo posest. Je kak zakon, ki prepoveduje prečkanje posesti hroščkom?

Poleg brisač kamnov, mej, zakonov, carin, begunskih centrov obstajajo tudi zakoni, ki so nad vso to civilizacijsko »kramo«. Zakoni in pravice vsakega živega bitja, da se svobodno razvija v tem vesolju in na planetu Zemlja, da diha zrak, pije vodo, se kopa, sonči, prehranjuje in gre tja, kjer čuti, da bo lahko živelo in preživelo.

»Prepovedano je puščati osebne predmete na plaži čez noč in zgodaj zjutraj zaradi rezervacije mest za sončenje. V nasprotnem primeru jih bodo odstranili občinski redarji,«

 so zapisali na tablah pred plažami v Vodicah. Predvideli so tudi kazen v višini 100 kun (13 evrov), a za zdaj pobirajo brisače, za katere ocenjujejo, da »privatizirajo« plaže. Podobne ukrepe kot v Vodicah so uvedle tudi mestne oblasti v Tisnem na otoku Murter, na otoku Prvić, v Makarski in še ponekod. Tuje tiskovne agencije so v preteklih dneh poročale, da so v nekaterih letoviščih v Španiji zaradi podobnega ravnanja turistov začeli zaračunavati tudi po 30 evrov kazni.

 Mar ne bi morali tudi v Evropi zapisati:

 »Prepovedano je ograjevati države, zapirati meje, privatizirati ozemlje za izključno samo eno vrsto državljanov zaradi rezervacije boljšega življenja. V nasprotnem primeru bodo državam ozemlja odvzeta, njihovi zakoni razglašeni za neveljavne, za tako neprimerno obnašanje pa bo predvidena stroga kazen v višini XY EUR!«

foto Alenka Sottler

REZIDENCA ZA UMETNIKE, KI NE DELAJO UMETNOSTI, KJE JE POTEM UMETNOST?

 SLO

 Milena Kosec

Rezidenca za umetnike na počivanju in ekološko vrtnarjenje

Pred dobrim letom je po e-pošti do mene prišel nenavadni razpis Residency for Artist on Hiatus (RFAOH) s pripisom, naj se vsekakor prijavim. Razpis je vabil umetnike na rezidenco za nekaj mesecev, največ za eno leto pod pogojem, da v tem času ne bodo delali kot umetniki.

Ob prijavi je bilo potrebno navesti, zakaj želiš začasno prekiniti umetniško ustvarjanje, kako boš porabil tako pridobljeni prosti čas in se odločiti za neko vrsto poročanja o svoji dejavnosti v času RFAOH rezidence, ko sicer ostaneš v svojem kraju in si z organizatorji in drugimi rezidenti povezan samo preko spletne strani:
 

http://residencyforartistsonhiatus.org/

Tu objavljaš svoja poročila in lahko komentiraš ostala. Obvezati si se moral, da karkoli boš v času rezidence počel, ne boš nikoli uporabil pri svojem umetniškem delu ali proglasil za umetniško delo. Za vsak mesec rezidence je bilo obljubljeno plačilo 30 kanadskih dolarjev.

Po krajšem razmisleku sem se res prijavila na rezidenco za eno leto z željo, da v tem času na domačem vrtu izpopolnim ekološki zelenjavni vrt in o tem enkrat mesečno napišem kratko poročilo. Na moje presenečenje sem bila sprejeta. Izkazalo se je, da sta si rezidenco kot svoj umetniški projekt zamislila dva umetnika Japonka Shinobu Akimoto in Kanadčan Matthew Evans. Pripravila sta internetni razpis in spletno stran. Izmed več kot trideset prijav s celega sveta sta izbrala šest med seboj zelo različnih umetnikov. Prva RFAOH rezidenca se je začela 1. oktobra 2013 in zaključila 30. septembra 2014. Rezidenca za novo skupino udeležencev se prične 1. novembra 2014.

 

MEDITIRANJE, VOZNIŠKI IN SPREJEMNI IZPIT, PROSTOČASNE DEJAVNOSTI, RAZMIŠLJANJE O DEPRESIJI IN VRTNARJENJE 

Vsak rezident je na svoj način izkoristil rezidenco: Skupina MomenTech iz New Yorka si je vzela čas za meditiranje, Farid Rakun iz Indonezije za poučevanje, mlada Egipčanka Batool Mohammed je opravila vozniški izpit in sprejemni izpit za nadaljevanje podiplomskega študija, Karen Zalamea iz Vancouvra nam je pošiljala čudovite fotografije prostočasnih dejavnosti in Danka Honey Biba Beckelee razmišljanje o depresiji. Nekateri so rezidenco zaključili predčasno, ker so dobili dragoceno vabilo za umetniško delo oziroma niso zmogli vztrajati v umetniški nedejavnosti.

Zame je bila to prva resnična vključenost v globalni svet sodobne umetnosti, čeprav sem pred tem že sodelovala na pomembnih mednarodnih prizoriščih (Štajerska jesen - Graz, Manifesta7- Bolzano). Izkušnja je navdušujoča. Na eni strani sem bila celo leto razbremenjena dogovarjanja za realizacijo umetniških projektov (razpisi, prireditveni prostor, kritje stroškov,..) in vendar bila vklučena v umetniški svet in tudi širši mednarodni prostor preko avtorjev rezidence in preko poročil. Na drugi strani sem imela na razpolago ves čas, da se resnično lahko poglobim v ekološko vrtnarjenje. Res pa je, da sem to leto fizično garala na vrtu več kot kdajkoli doslej. Zato je ta internetna rezidenca zame izpadla fizično nadvse naporno. To je tudi razlog, da sem se manj kot avtorja rezidence in ostali rezidenti spraševala o položaju umetnika, čigar delo se ne prilega običajnim normam umetniškega sistema, o pomenu sodobne umetnosti,... temveč sem se soočala s problemom zdravega prehranjevanja v prenaseljenem  in onesnaženem svetu.

Šopek, avgust 2014

Nekaj misli iz mojega zaključnega poročila:

»Predvsem sodelovanje na RFAOH v luči današnjega običajnega zahodnega življenja čutim kot največje razkošje in privilegij, ker sem imela možnost vzgajati lastno ekološko zelenjavo, jo kuhati in pojesti svežo vsak dan. Imela sem redko možnost porabiti svoj čas za prehranjevane na najboljši možni način. Zdi se, da je to danes možno samo v zelo primitivnih družbah in v umetnosti. Mišljenje, da lahko gremo nazaj in pridelujemo zdravo ekološko hrano za vse ljudi je velika romantična utopija. Samo zelo bogati ljudje lahko kupujejo striktno ekološko hrano in samo zdrav lastnik dobre zemlje jo z veliko časa in dela v dobrih klimatskih razmerah in čistem zraku lahko pridela dovolj zase in za družino."

 

ZAKLJUČNE BESEDE O UMETNOSTI

Zame osebno je umetnost odkrivanje neznanega – raziskovanje življenja. Moje umetniško delo čutim kot umetnost takrat, ko uspem narediti nekaj več - nekaj, kar nisem nikoli pričakovala, da bom naredila (nekaj, kar me presega). Mislim, da je za umetnika pomembno, da dela z odprtim srcem tisto, kar čuti za dobro in nujno. To je vse. Pri tem za realizacijo lahko uporablja umetniški sistem ali pa ne. Za samo umetnost to ni bistveno. Čeprav je umetniški sistem vedno v službi ideologije. O tem je bolje ne izgubljati besed. Na splošno umetnost reflektira dobo in odstira prihodnost. Čas nam pokaže, kaj je dobra umetnost, kaj je slaba oziroma kaj ni umetnost.«

http://www.3via.org/MilenaKosec/

 

ANG
 

RESIDENCY FOR ARTISTS NOT MAKING ART – SO WHICH PART IS ART?

Milena Kosec

Residency for artists on holiday and permaculture gardening

About a year ago, I received an email containing an unusual call for applications titled Residency for Artist on Hiatus (RFAOH) with a postscript encouraging me to definitively apply. Artists were invited to the residency for several months but not more than a year providing they did not work as artists during that time.

 

To complete the application procedure, the artist had to explain the reason for the temporary gap in the artistic creation, the use of the newly obtained free time and had to decide for a form of reporting about the non-artistic activity taking place during the RFAOH residency. Being a member of RFAOH residency meant that the artist did not change his location but was instead connected to organisers and other artists in the residency via the web page: http://residencyforartistsonhiatus.org/. The web page is a place for artist’s reports and comments. The artist was bind not to use anything done during the time of residency as the work of art or to proclaim it as such. For every month spent at the residency the artist would receive a payment of 30CAD.

After a short consideration I applied for a year at the residency wanting to improve the permaculture vegetable garden at home and decided to send monthly reports about it. To my surprise I was accepted. It turned out that the residency was an art project of two artists, namely Japanese Shinobu Akimoto and Canadian Matthew Evans. They prepared an internet call for applications and the web page. Six very different artists from all over the world were chosen among more than thirty who applied. The first RFAOH residency started on 1^st October 2013 and ended on 30^th September 2014. Residency for the new group will start on 1^st November 2014.

 

MEDITATION, DRIVING LICENCE AND ENTRANCE EXAM, FREE TIME ACTIVITIES, THINKING ABOUT DEPRESSION AND GARDENING

 

Each resident spent the time during the residency in a different way: the MomenTech group from New York took time to meditate, Farid Rakun from Indonesia Indonezije had teaching lessons, young Egyptian Batool Mohammed obtained her driving licence and passed her entrance exam for further postgraduate studies, Karen Zalamea from Vancouver sent beautiful photographs of her free time activities and Danish Honey Biba Beckelee reported her thoughts on depression. Some of the participants ended their term before time because they got a special invitation for work of art or could no longer endure not to make art.

This was the first time that I was really included into the global word of contemporary art although I have so far participated in important international events (Steirischerherbst – Graz, Manifesta7 – Bolzano). The experience is inspiring. On the one hand, I was free from constant making of arrangements for realization of artistic projects (call for applications, performance rooms, expenses etc.) for a year and yet I was a part of the art world. Furthermore, the authors of the residency and the reports enabled me to be in the midst of the wide international art scene. On the other hand, I had all the time I wanted to focus on permaculture gardening. It is true, however, that I had to do a lot more of hard work in the garden than ever before. Consequently, this internet residency was physically quite strenuous for me. This also explains why I thought much less than the authors of the residence and other artists about the situation of the artist whose work does not conform to the rules of the art system, about the meaning of contemporary art etc. Instead, I was faced with the problem of healthy food in the overcrowded and polluted world.

Here are some thoughts from my final report:

“The participation in RFAOH residency offered me, especially in the light of nowadays western way of life, the greatest luxury and privilege to grow my own organic vegetable, to cook it and eat it fresh every day. I had the rare opportunity to spend my time for eating healthy in the best possible way. It seems to me that healthy food is a reality only in very primitive societies and in art. Thinking that we can go back to growing healthy organic food for all people is nothing but a mere romantic illusion. Only very rich people can afford to buy purely organic food and only a healthy owner of a fertile soil is able to grow enough food for his needs in good weather conditions and clean air."

 

CONCLUDING THOUGHTS ABOUT ART

Art is, for me personally, the discovering of the unknown – the discovering of the life itself. I perceive my artistic work as art when I manage to do something more – something I never expected to do (something which surpasses me). In short, it is my firm belief that artists should openheartedly do what they feel is good and necessary. They may or may not use the art system while making art, but for the art itself this is not significant. Although, of course, the art system is always a subject to ideology and one should not ponder over this too much. Generally speaking, art reflects our era and reveals the future. However, in the end, it is time which distinguishes between good art, bad art and that which is not art at all.”

translated by Sibil Guntar Vilfan

http://www.3via.org/MilenaKosec/

ČLANEK OBJAVLJEN V SPLETNI REVIJI AN

https://www.a-n.co.uk/reviews

Now in its second year, the Residency for Artists on Hiatus seeks to free its participants from the pressures of the 'capital A art world' by providing space for artists to not make art. Michaela Nettell finds out more.

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“For me, personally, this is my artistic survival.” Shinobu Akimoto is a Japanese visual artist based in Montreal. She is also co-director of Residency for Artists on Hiatus (RFAOH), an online residency in which participants are invited to spend between six and 12 months not making art.

Akimoto founded the project with fellow artist Matthew Evans to explore alternative contexts for artistic activity; to question the role and value of what they see as an increasingly institutionalised art world; and to confront their own disillusion and disconnection from the mainstream art scene.

“In my case I was travelling between Japan and Canada so I never belonged to a single art community,” explains Evans. “I was looking for a way to meet other artists and make work with them in an open-ended way.”

In the project’s inaugural year, six participants were selected from an open call, a disparate and geographically distributed group including Slovenian Milena Kosec, who graduated in 1974 with a degree in technical mathematics and has since established a “non-institutional art space” in her vegetable garden; and MomenTech, a young, multimedia collective in New York.

The participants spent their time not making art in diverse ways – from permaculture gardening (Kosec), daily meditation (MomenTech), to gaining a driver’s license (Egyptian design graduate Batool Mohammed) – but forged surprisingly close bonds during their shared time out.

“Although the residency is only on the Net, we’ve somehow made very personal connections among each other,” says Kosec, who, having embarked on a full 12-month break from her art practice, is still on hiatus. “I was sorry when the others finished.”

“I’ve collaborated with people a couple of times before,” agrees Akimoto, “but to have these people coming to the project from all over the world, not really knowing who they are but feeling so close to them, to me it’s amazing!”

Expanded and enriched

As directors, Akimoto and Evans maintain the project website, publish participants’ periodic reports, promote the residency through social media and at art events (including the Venice Biennale in 2013), and design and sell multiples with the RFAOH logo. Their own practices are expanded and enriched by this exploration of alternative modes of production.

“A lot of people had trouble understanding it at the beginning,” says Akimoto, “they would ask: ‘A residency for people who aren’t making art – so which part is the art?’ But what do you do, if you can’t create work that fits the institutional formula any more, if you’re not accepted into galleries and you still want to live as an artist?”

The pair find themselves in an ambivalent position in relation to the art establishment. While the project seeks to free participants from the pressures of the “capital A art world”, it intentionally borrows from the bodies it sets out to critique – lifting selection criteria from the Canada Council’s grants program for example.

Initially, Akimoto and Evans looked to established galleries and institutions for support – to reify their work and to amplify this paradox. But now, after the success of the first residencies, with interest growing from like-minded individuals and organisations across the world, and with their second call for applications reaching almost 9,000 people in its first fortnight online, this kind of ‘official’ endorsement is beginning to feel less important.

“There’s this institutional structure and as artists you want to participate in it,” reasons Evans, “but maybe simply in making things you belong to it because you have a group of peers who are also involved. The art world exists beyond the visible spaces of these institutions, it exists within the community you’re working in.”

By virtue then of a somewhat absurd logic (and Evans is “a big fan of nonsense”), their virtual residency for non-art is succeeding in creating a very real community of committed and critical practitioners, within which he and Akimbo feel able to sustain their own art activity.

“I’ve always had this love-hate relationship with the art world,” says Akimoto. “I’m a huge fan of certain big-name artists and I love work that is institutionally sanctioned, but I am also a bit tired of ‘art people’ and I hate the gatekeeping. This project is one of the answers – otherwise I would have quit a long time ago!”

The application deadline for the latest call for participants is 15 September 2014. 
residencyforartistsonhiatus.org